Never mind the airship, Matthew thought. The coach was a leviathan, a landship twice as large as an ordinary vehicle of its purpose. It suited the outsized swagger of Samson Lash. The thing was shaped like a ship, with a sharp prow and a flatter stern. Its main body was painted a cream color with doors of navy blue and scarlet, two on each side, and at the back the baggage compartment was not a regular canvas tarpaulin but another pair of doors. The four horses that were destined to pull the thing were also of the larger and shaggier variety. Matthew didn’t know their breed but figured the Vikings had brought their forebears over from the frozen north. Two men bundled in heavy coats and hats sat up on the leather-padded driver’s bench, one to relieve the other when necessary. By the light of the lanterns that hung from ornamental pedestals on either side of the bench, Matthew saw through the falling snow that the relief driver had easy access to a musket secured in a cowhide holder just beside his right leg.

So far, his feeble plan was going to the domain of Cardinal Black’s master.

“In you go,” said the Owl, as he pulled a release lever that lowered a small set of collapsible wooden steps below the doors on the coach’s side. Matthew saw the guard opening the gate. He was in for it now, no matter what happened. He went up the steps, turned a brass handle and was instantly pushed from behind by Bogen into the coach.

“Good trip!” Matthew heard the Owl call. There came a whipcrack and the driver’s voice shouting “Hiiiiiyupppp!” The coach gave a shudder and began moving, but slowly through the gate and onto Endsleigh Park Road.

“Settle back,” said Bogen, who sat down across from Matthew. He moved his cloak aside just enough for Matthew to get a glimpse of the pistol’s handle at his belt. For emphasis to this implied threat, Bogen reached into his jacket and brought out a powder horn on a leather strap, which he placed around his bulk of a shoulder.

Matthew took quick stock of his surroundings. The dark blue interior was built to carry six passengers facing each other on bench seats of red leather, with an uncommonly generous space for leg room between. A pair of lamps built onto the sides gave off enough light for a small chapel, but even Lash’s money and influence couldn’t reduce the fishy odor of the whale oil. White linen curtains covered small round windows—portholes—on either side. Matthew saw on the floor near his feet a wicker basket. The promised breakfast, of which he might make a use.